Love's Hymn
by one.long.melody
Summary: Tensions arise between Garland and Malcolm when the Foxworth clan attends a customary church sermon.
1. Family Matters

I do not own _Garden of Shadows _or any of its characters, likenesses, or places. They belong to V.C. Andrews.

I would like to dedicate this story to the unbelievably awesome GrayRainbows: In my brief time writing for _The Dollanganger Saga, _there is so much you've taught me. Thank you for all your support, and for welcoming me into the fandom. :)

* * *

Standing at the base of the balustrade, I fervently anticipated the appearance of my little mockingbird at its peak. Two months had passed since the birth of our son—a beautiful, joyous bundle named Christopher Garland Foxworth. He rarely cried and always had a smile for everyone who came to his crib. Although my wife insisted he took after me in looks, I believed it was her own striking beauty that made up these immaculate features. We had spent a few evenings playfully arguing over this prospect in the nursery, while Christopher observed quietly from his crib. He had most likely spent his time pondering why Momma appeared irritated one moment, and the next was throwing herself into Papa's arms.

When Alicia had first announced her desire to start a family, I admit I was hesitant. Not only had I casted off to the waters of desertion long ago the idea of ever having another child, but I was heavily burdened by the thought that I would coerce what would probably be the last child I had to loathe me. Although Malcolm had hated me for years, it was something I'd come to accept. He was entitled to that hate, for I had been the one who'd driven his mother away. I had allowed my pain to come between my son and me, when all the while I should have been keeping him close. Instead, what had I done but ship him off to numerous boarding schools and leave him in the care of housekeepers. I spent the rest of my time either alone in my offices or away on business, doing all I could to fill the void his mother's absence had left in my heart.

I was forty-four the first time I saw Alicia, and herself then just five years old. She was sitting at the piano beside her mother when I'd entered the parlor of their small, ranch-style house in Richmond, Virginia. Alicia was wearing a dress made of turquoise silk with a white lace color. Her chestnut hair fell in ringlets about her shoulders and was tied back from her face by a black satin ribbon. She was small for her age, and very, very bashful, having ducked behind the piano as I smiled in their direction.

"'Alicia,'" her mother said, "'this is Mr. Foxworth, an old friend of your father's. Why don't you go and say hello to him? If you don't, then he may think you're aloof, and nobody likes that sort of quality in a person.'"

Even at such a tender age, Alicia knew that the slightest impertinence was often frowned upon. Of course, I would never have assumed such a thing, with or without her mother's intervention. Still, I was thankful that Alicia had been encouraged. As she slid off the bench, I was amazed by just how tiny she was. Her appearance was significant to that of the little porcelain dolls of which my first wife was so fond. Dolls that had once lined the walls of the Swan Room at Foxworth Hall. Dolls that I would have given to Alicia had Malcolm not shattered them all in a fit of countered rage after his mother left us.

"'Hello, Mr. Foxworth,'" Alicia said, and to my amusement performed a perfect little curtsey. "'How do you do?'"

These were the first words she spoke to me, words that I would remember for the rest of my life.

Nathaniel Evans, Alicia's father, had been an acquaintance of mine since childhood. In his twenties, a terrible horseback riding accident had closed the doors to any career he could have had, making it difficult for him to support his wife and daughter. With my only intention being to help them, I supplied him with a position at my offices that paid well and required no standing. The fact that his only daughter eventually became my second wife was merely an added benefit, rather than a reward for my services. Sadly Nathaniel had passed away shortly before I proposed, from an illness that caused his health to deteriorate over the course of several months.

Alicia's first pregnancy had caused her little discomfort—one might even go as far as to say she'd taken pleasure in it. Her joy had vanquished from my mind all concern that she'd sink into a depression like my first wife in the weeks after Malcolm's birth. For the first few weeks, Alicia appeared to be as cheerful as she'd been throughout the duration of her pregnancy. Then one afternoon I'd returned home from the offices and discovered her in a state suggesting just the opposite. I was devastated but not entirely shocked when she explained how 'depressed' she was over the changes in her body. For her reasons matched those of Corrine's exactly. So similar were they that I feared Alicia would leave me like Corrine had all those years ago. I had done all I could to bring Alicia out of her self-pitying state, and in the end succeeded. On balance, losing her like I'd lost Corrine was not an experience I wanted to see repeated.

Malcolm's impatient sigh did nothing to encourage me to call again for Alicia. "Will you please go up and tell your—" He paused, as if it caused him physical pain to address Alicia by anything other than her name. "—_Wife _to hurry along? Honestly, Father. We'll look like _fools_ if we arrive after the service has begun."

A sudden cough from Olivia interrupted whatever else Malcolm had planned to say. While he averted his eyes to glance for what had to be the twelfth time at his watch, I smiled my appreciation at Olivia. She was standing beside her husband, both of her hands clutching those of Mal and Joel. She didn't return my gesture, but nodded to guarantee she understood. Everyone was dressed in their Sunday best, even the boys. Neither of them appeared altogether comfortable in their church clothes. I could imagine that the woolen blazers and trousers their mother had chosen for them (to please Malcolm, I assumed) had to be terribly scratchy in the warm May weather. I pitied Mal and Joel for when we arrived at the cathedral, which was sure to be quite stuffy.

Olivia was garbed in what was the first splash of color I'd seen her in since my return to Foxworth Hall. She was quite the catch in her floor-length bustle gown of green moss, which brought out the brown in her gray eyes. Fastened at the collar was an oval-shaped brooch encrusted with sparking purple jewels. Her light brown hair was, as usual, piled high atop her head, and I took notice of her efforts to apply a little makeup. It brought to the surface the beauty she seemed so determined to conceal—or that which she felt she lacked. She really was quite pretty, despite her tallness and what was often a blunt demeanor.

Malcolm—in spite of his earlier unpleasantness—looked quite dashing in his simple two-piece, charcoal gray suit over a white dress shirt and navy tie.

I, on the other hand, had chosen a more innovative style in a tan suit (my best color, according to Alicia) over a white dress shirt, with a gray vest and red tie.

I didn't completely agree with Malcolm's decision to introduce Joel to church when the boy had only just recently turned one. Malcolm had been nearly five the first he'd set foot inside a cathedral—not counting his christening. I had even gone as far as to suggest to my son and daughter-in-law that Joel be kept at home with Christopher. But Malcolm wouldn't hear of it. Being as stubborn as he was (or perhaps it was his own childish way of defying my parentage), he insisted that religion knew no age. According to something Olivia had mentioned, Malcolm had already taken Mal and Joel to tour his fabric mills in Charlottesville. And so, Malcolm's latest proposal to 'introduce' his sons to religion came as no surprise.

Joel's nose was running more than usual, and I feared that the heavy aroma of incense might rile his hay fever. Out of my two grandsons, I must admit it was Joel I was most fond of. He was the spitting image of me at his age, from his wispy blond hair to the way he raised his hand and rubbed his nose. I knew Malcolm placed the blame of his youngest son's fragile condition on my shoulders. Although we had a history of hay fever in our family, it often skipped a generation, usually resuming with the second-born. In this latest case it was _Joel _who was forced to bear the burden of consistent sniffles, which had the potential of erupting into vicious sneezes that often lasted for hours He was lucky to have been spared from asthma, which I'd been forced to contend with until I was nearly sixteen. I absolutely _hated_ the thought of seeing him confined to bed, his head propped up on four or five pillows while a machine pumped oxygen into his lungs. Even to this day, it pains me to recall how much of my childhood was lost because of my debilitating illness.

"Alicia, my love," I called merrily up the stairway, "we're all downstairs, waiting for you. Exactly how much longer do you expect to be?"

If she responded, I didn't hear her. Malcolm took advantage of the silence by continuing on with his complaints regarding Alicia. "Lucas has been parked in the driveway now for more than half an hour. If she isn't down in exactly one minute, then I'm taking my family and leaving. You can stay here and explain to your _wife_ the importance of proper punctuality."

"Oh, Malcolm, have a little patience. I remember how your mother always used to—"

"We are _leaving, _Father. Come along, Olivia, boys." Then he pivoted, hitting me with that piercing, ice-filled gaze I had seen him use on his associates at the offices whenever they disagreed with him. "I'll send the limousine back here and you can meet us at the cathedral. Just be sure to prepare yourselves for the idle gossip that's sure to follow you about the town."

"I'm quite certain that won't be a concern, Malcolm. As of yet, it isn't even half past nine, and Reverend Masterson never delivers the sermon until after ten. We have plenty of time to arrive and take our seats before then. I wish you wouldn't worry so."

Malcolm frowned. "Two minutes, then. I'll give her two minutes, but no more. She's lucky I've allowed her _this _much extra time to comb her hair. Or whatever activity she's gotten herself involved in that has forced her to lose all track of time."

"Is Alicia coming with us to church, Grandpa?" Mal asked. "I don't wanna go if Alicia isn't gonna go."

"Oh, you're going," Malcolm said, and shot the boy a glare of warning from over his shoulder. "You, your mother, brother and I _all _going. Whether or not your _grandmother _chooses to accompany us is none of your concern. Or anyone else's, for that matter. Let her take the Lord's Day in contempt by fulfilling her own selfish desires if that is what she wants. It isn't _my_ soul that will be on trial come Judgment Day."

It _infuriated_ me the way Malcolm had spoken so harshly of and with such disrespect for Alicia. The very idea that he would have the nerve to speak so boorishly of her in front of me was shocking! Normally I would not have hesitated to put him in his place, the way I had when he was a child and misbehaved. But it was for the sake of my grandsons that I chose to hold my tongue. Mal and Joel were looking at me the way they looked at each other whenever their father harshly scolded one or the other, or both at once. Now they responded to the flare of their father's temper by ducking behind their mother's skirt, Joel following Mal like a shadow. By the way Malcolm treated his children, it made one wonder if he was intentionally raising them with fear rather than love.

It was only when I heard a soft, melodic voice call my name that I felt all of my umbrage for Malcolm vanish like a London fog. Turning to face the top of the balustrade, I saw her. Alicia, my beautiful, charming wife and the mother of my youngest child. She looked radiant in a two-piece, rose-colored suit with silver buttons down the front, along with a matching fedora. I'd seen her in the outfit many times before we were married, but her beauty was even more striking now…perhaps it was her new role as a mother that had added that little something extra. She had chosen for the occasion to wear her hair down—the way I liked it best—with chestnut ringlets spilling down her shoulders. She had on a pair of white pumps, and carried a handbag the same color as her suit. I was so busy admiring her that I took no notice of the stiffness in her step as she descended down the stairway. It wasn't until much later that I would learn the reason why and blame it on yet another result of my absentmindedness.

"Good morning," Alicia said pleasantly as she reached the final few steps. "I do hope I haven't kept any of you waiting long."

"I beg to differ," grumbled Malcolm. When no one answered, I assumed they either hadn't heard or were choosing not to pay any attention to him.

Extending my hand to Alicia, I took her hand and placed upon it a courteous kiss. "My dear, would it be terribly presumptuous of me to tell you how ravishing you look?

She giggled, and raised her hand to her mouth in order to conceal the smile there. "Not at all, my darling."

"If my father would transmit the sort of interest he has for you to his responsibilities at the offices," Malcolm remarked, "then perhaps—"

Olivia saw her chance, and intruded upon the situation before her husband could insinuate an argument between himself and me. "Now that we're all gathered together, it's rather impractical to merely stand around the foyer like a crowd of silly schoolgirls. If we're going to make it to Reverend Masterson's sermon on schedule, then it's best we leave immediately."

"Exactly my point," agreed Malcolm, doing nothing at all to mask his annoyance. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him send Alicia a look so sharp that his eyes might as well have been daggers.

I returned Malcolm's threatening glare before restoring my focus to Alicia and guiding her off the final few steps. When I looked back at my son, he had already lost interest in the situation and pivoted. He was now ambling after Olivia and the boys, who were headed for the front door.

"Shall we?" Alicia asked, her engaging voice drawing me away from my present thoughts of annoyance.

"Certainly," I said, and held out my arm to her. She linked her own through mine, and together we went outside to join our family.


	2. A Most Unconventional Sermon

I do not own _Garden of Shadows _or any of its characters, likenesses, or places. They belong to V.C. Andrews._ Jesus, Stand Among Us _written by William Pennefather, circa 1855.

* * *

"Are you _certain _Christopher will be all right without us for a few hours?" Alicia asked, as we took our seats together in the first row of the pew twenty-five minutes later. "He was sleeping when I left the nursery. What if he wakes up and finds us gone? He'll be frightened."

"Alicia, my love, you're worrying yourself over nothing. I left specific instructions with both Mrs. Steiner and Mrs. Wilson—they'll know what to do if he grows fussy."

"But he'll _miss _me."

"Only for a short while."

Being a new mother, it seemed so sensible that Alicia would worry over something like this. It certainly would explain her agitation in the limousine, as she'd appeared to find great difficulty in sitting still. Like an overexcited child she'd squirmed about in her seat in a way that had concerned me and irritated Malcolm. We were less than halfway to our destination when he leaned across the seat and asked me how much coffee Alicia had consumed that morning.

"'No more than her typical solitary cup with sugar and cream,'" I replied. As I spoke, I made sure to do so without amusement—for I still hadn't forgiven him for his earlier remark concerning his stepmother.

Something in his expression had told me he didn't believe a word of it. I waited for him to remark about the amount of sugar in Alicia's coffee, but he said no more. Perhaps he was thinking the same as I: That neither of us had any desire to quarrel with the other inside a moving vehicle. None of the arguments ever lasted long, but each was connected to my relationship with Alicia.

The first argument had taken place the evening of Alicia's and my arrival at Foxworth Hall. It was evening and I was in the upstairs library, browsing the bookshelves for a title she had requested. Across the hallway from it was Malcolm's trophy room—a room Alicia herself didn't care for, claiming that the sight of mounted beasts on the walls upset and disturbed her. So troubled was she by this room that when the door to it were left open on occasion, she would refuse to venture past it unescorted. She cared even less for the fact that _I'd _been the one to slay many of the animals within. The only thing that spared me from any of my wife's criticisms was my position on the pedestal inside her heart.

My back was turned when I heard the pair of doors behind me slam, and when I turned there stood Malcolm. His expression matched that of someone who has been frivolous with their funds and as a result gone into debt.

"'Before you retire for the night, Father,'" he said, "'I'd like a word with you.'"

"'It sounds serious. What's on your mind, son?'"

"'It concerns your…bride.'"

"'Alicia? What about her?'"

"'How did the two of you first become acquainted?'"

"'I told you shortly after our engagement. She was the daughter of a recently deceased childhood colleague of mine.'"

Malcolm chuckled, though the sound that rumbled in his throat was devoid of all humor. The resonance he delivered forth was mocking, and his response was no exception. "'And she loves you for who you are, I suppose.'"

I frowned. "'Yes.'"

Casually he strode across the room to the large wooden desk. Sitting in the corner was a glass toy that had been sculpted into the image of a man riding an elephant with wheels on the bottom. I had bought it for Malcolm many years ago when I'd traveled to Africa on safari. I watched him pick up the toy, examine it briefly, and then set it back down in its original position before turning to me.

"'Are you certain of that, Father?'"

Oh, I was on the defense now. "'I've never been more certain of anything in my life, Malcolm. _That _you can be sure of.'"

He said nothing, and again permitted his attention to be captured. He faced the bookshelf and knotted the fingers of both hands together behind his back.

"'She bears a strong resemblance to my mother,'" he went on. "'Then again, I suppose that's why you married her.'"

"'My marriage to Alicia has nothing to do with your mother,'" I hissed through teeth clenched by fury. "'Our love for each goes far_ beyond_ what's on the surface.'"

"'Yes.'" Malcolm's steal-blue eyes swam with triumph and a self satisfied smile was plastered to his face."'And goes straight to the heart of a vast fortune.'"

If there was one thing with the potential to offend me, it was Malcolm's twisted views on Alicia's reasons for marrying me. I had pleaded with him to attend our wedding, but he wouldn't hear of it. He'd refused to be present at a reception in favor of the man who'd failed him as a father. Not that I could blame him, but he had no right to take his aggression for me out on his stepmother.

"'Filth and lies!'" I spat. "'Malcolm, I understand how my marriage to a woman nearly forty years my junior may come as something of a shock to you. But regardless of your feelings, you have no right to disrespect your stepmother.'"

"'She is_ not_ my stepmother! For the love of Christ, she's hardly more than a child!'"

"'Whether she is'"—she wasn't—"'or she isn't is none of your concern. And whether you _like_ it or not, I am_ still _the master of Foxworth Hall. I will be until the day I die and my will is read. Until then, not to mention for a perpetual henceforth, I demand you show Alicia the same respect you showed your birthmother.'"

Malcolm said nothing, but the clenching of his fists at his sides never escaped my eye. It was a habit he'd obtained during childhood that he articulated every time he didn't get his way. Like a picture show, memories of Malcolm's long line of tantrums flashed through my mind. During my marriage to Corrine, I was the one expected to be the disciplinarian. It was a role I was willing to play, and one I feel I filled quite favorably. I had only spanked Malcolm when it was absolutely necessary, and he never went to bed at night hungry, no matter how atrocious his behavior.

But not a spanking or any other form of punishment was going to teach Malcolm a lesson this time. He was free to believe what he would, to think for himself. But he was _not_ going to speak ill of my wife as long as I had anything to say about it—and indeed there was_ much_ more I had to say. Foxworth Hall was as much Alicia's home as it was mine, and I wanted her to feel welcome. Malcolm could say what he wanted about me, but I'd be damned if I permitted him to do the same to my wife.

I suppose he knew he was not going to convince me of anything. He excused himself and departed the study, leaving me to return to my original task. After some thorough searching, I finally located the book Alicia had requested on one of the higher shelves. Behind me in the library was where I left my memories of what would eventually become one of many heated discussions with my son.

Only about five minutes had passed since we'd arrived at the cathedral, and already the boys were growing restless. Joel was fussing from his place in his mother's lap (Do you still think bringing him was a good idea, Malcolm?). While Mal—who had insisted he be seated beside Alicia—seemed liable to climb the pews at any given moment. Instead, he plucked from the compartment in the seat before him a Bible. He flipped through it briefly and, realizing that it had no pictures, quickly grew bored and dropped it on the floor. His action provoked a smile from Alicia, who covered it with her hand before either Malcolm or Olivia could notice. Neither one of them appeared in the least amused by their son's behavior. But it was Malcolm—who was sitting at the end of our row—who retrieved the Bible and returned it to its place inside the compartment. He then sent his son a look of warning, forcing Mal to squeeze himself closely between his mother and grandmother. Satisfied, Malcolm leaned back in his seat and stared straight ahead of him at the lectern.

Not wanting to disregard Malcolm's means of discipline but hating to see Mal so upset, Alicia offered her grandson an encouraging smile. Never before had I seen a child emerge quicker from a funk than Mal did. He grinned back at Alicia, revealing the gap where two of his front teeth were waiting to come in.

"You wanna play paddy-cake with me, Alicia?"

"Mal," advised Olivia gently, "keep in mind that there are _other _people here. Your game of paddy-cake might disturb them."

"I'll do it quiet, Mommy."

"Don't argue, Mal. The answer is no."

"But Mommy, I'm b-uh-ored."

Another glower of admonition from Malcolm silenced Mal, and even Joel ceased his fussing. Had we not been in a place of worship, Malcolm was prone to take his son out back and administer serious discipline. Besides his disrespect for Alicia, it was this part of Malcolm's personality I hated most. He treated his sons more like animals than human beings, and wouldn't even permit them to dine at the table with us! When I'd inquired about the reason, he explained he was incapable of enjoying his meal because of how the boys consumed theirs. Either he had forgotten how he'd once administered the same type of manners, or he'd simply chosen to forget all about it. But it wasn't the rules Malcolm set for his children that troubled me most: It was the discipline, and the way he dispensed it. He had yet to strike Joel, who was still very much an infant, but he had spanked Mal on several occasions…and often for the most futile of reasons. Always was it done with a hickory stick (I had merely used the back of my hand with Malcolm), which left welts so painful that it was days before Mal could sit comfortably.

Knowing that he suffered at the hand of his father never failed to reduce Alicia to tears. The first time it happened, she'd run straight to me and begged me to put a stop to it. "You've _got _to do something to stop him, Garland! I spoke first to Olivia, but she refuses to contradict her husband!" I'd done what I could, explaining to Malcolm that spanking was not always necessary and that a simple time-out would suffice. At first he'd laughed, saying that parents today were 'too soft' on their children. That if parents would discipline their children properly, then those children would grow up into well-developed adults who didn't burden society. When I reminded Malcolm of how I had spanked him but a few times, he'd glared fiercely and then told me to concern myself with my 'child bride'. That had been the closing line of the argument and I'd stormed off, slamming the doors of the upstairs library thunderously. Later on, I told Alicia that Malcolm had refused to see sense. I spent that evening cradling my love in my arms, comforting her as best I could until eventually she sobbed herself into unconsciousness.

Silence hovered over the congregation like an eclipse, the only sounds being an occasional cough or sniffle. Apparently, people had either nothing to discuss or were too implicated in prayer to make small talk. Along with Malcolm and Olivia, Alicia was involved in a prayer of her own. She was probably saying one for her mother, who had recently fallen ill. Dutifully I joined her, pleading with God to forgive Malcolm his failings and to help him become a better person.

"Amen," I said, just as I heard the two double doors at the back of the cathedral open and the sound of advancing footsteps.

Reverend Masterson strode swiftly in between the row of pews, his dark robes kicking up tiny specks of dust. Joel sneezed, though I doubted it was the cause of any dust. The smell of incense hanging in the air was particularly heavy that Sunday morning, and I prayed he would get used to it. Alicia reached into her handbag and produced a handkerchief, which she offered to Olivia. Olivia whispered a thank you and accepted the handkerchief, using it to wipe Joel's nose.

I smiled at Alicia and patted her hand. She looked at me, her desire to kiss me swimming vivaciously in her blue eyes. At any other time I would not have hesitated to fulfill her wish, but we were in a sacred place, and to give in would surely be met with disapproval.

_But what could be more sacred than a kiss? _Alicia's eyes seemed to assert.

Well, I thought, perhaps I could meet her halfway. Slowly I dipped my head, and with great tenderness planted a kiss on her cheek. She responded by blushing like a schoolgirl, her cheeks reflecting the red glass of the windows.

"Good morning," said Reverend Masterson. "Permit me to begin by saying how wonderful it is to see you all gathered here together this fine Sunday morning. Before I begin today's sermon, I feel it my equitable duty to acknowledge we have two new faces in our congregation."

He was, of course, referring to Mal and Joel, whom he gestured to with a wave of his great hand. Mal responded to the attention by slouching in his seat, while Joel glanced around curiously at the spectators.

It wasn't long before the service commenced with a reading by Reverend Masterson from the Bible. Some chose to follow along in the copies provided for them in several compartments behind each seat. Others, such as Olivia—who couldn't possibly contend with a book _and _a baby—merely chose to listen. Alicia and I were among the former, sitting with the Bible between us as we followed along simultaneously. Occasionally I would complete a page first, in which case I waited patiently for her to catch up before turning to the next.

Once Reverend Masterson had concluded the passage, he called upon Carole Schroder, our cathedral's pianist. She seated herself before the instrument, waiting until the congregation was on its feet before compressing her fingers to the keys.

The music started, and from the lips of the parishioners poured the words to _Jesus, Stand Among Us. _As always it was Alicia's voice alone I heard, her tone akin to a lovely melody inside my ears. She was eleven the first time I had ever heard her sing. At first she was timid, insisting she didn't possess the type of voice associated with that of a singer. I was not above groveling—being married to Corrine for five years had taught me that, along with the value of modesty. And so, after a little coaxing and several promises not to laugh, Alicia gave in. Her lips parted, and I listened keenly as the sweetest sound I'd ever heard derived from the girl seated beside me on the settee. It was from this experience that my pet-name for her was conceived, for her voice was equivalent to that of a mockingbird's.

For Alicia's twelfth birthday I'd presented her with a beautiful gold bracelet with an inscription written on the inside: _To my little mockingbird. With love, Garland. _Her parents had made quite an upheaval over the bracelet, her father even taking me into his study and demanding the cost. I waved the matter aside, insisting it wasn't important.

"'Do you not _remember _the typewriter, Garland?'" Nathaniel asked, referring to the gift I'd given Alicia two years earlier—a gift she'd lost interest in after the first few months."'I understand you care deeply for Alicia, but you can't go on spoiling her like this. Soon she'll be a grown woman and expect every man who comes along to treat her as you do. It isn't fair to her, and it isn't fair for_ you _to continue throwing away your hard-earned money on a child who isn't even yours.'"

My friend's words humbled me. More than that, they _wounded_ me. With a cloud of shame hanging over me, I left Alicia's party comprised of mostly relatives and a few close friends. I was halfway past the front gardens when I was stopped by a fierce tug on my arm. I pivoted to see Alicia, who back then was hardly taller than the fourth graders at her school. Already she was wearing the bracelet I'd bought her, which I was pleased to see didn't threaten to slide off from around her wrist. I'd taken a chance with that bracelet, for she had such small wrists for a twelve-year-old.

"'Where are you going?'" she demanded. "'Momma's insisting that I blow out my candles, but I told her I wouldn't do it unless you were there to watch me. So come back inside and watch me.'" Alicia tugged again at my arm, and with great reluctance I shrugged her off. "'Garland?'"

She had been referring to me as 'Garland' for a few months now…yet another privilege I'd given her of which her parents were disapproving. Perhaps Nathaniel was right—perhaps by indulging her, I_ was _setting her up for a lifetime of disappointments. She came from a poor family, and lived in a middle-class neighborhood. It was unlikely she was ever going to find a wealthy man to take care of her, though she certainly had the beauty and charm needed to attract any one she chose. But to capture a man with substantial funds would entail her to travel a considerable distance from her home. Personally, I wasn't so sure she was capable of making such a life-altering adjustment. She loved her parents dearly and would surely grow very homesick if ever separated from them.

"'I'm sorry, mockingbird,'" I answered feebly. "'But I'm afraid that I simply cannot stay.'"

Alicia appeared offended, as if I'd chosen of my own accord to depart the most momentous event of the year. "'Why not?'"

"'There's some important business down at the office that requires my immediate attention.'"

"'More important than my birthday?'"

An image of my heart breaking in two flashed before my eyes. With it came the tears I'd been struggling to suppress following my conversation with Nathaniel. I raised my hand to cover my face before turning away, ashamed to have her see me cry. She had seen me cry only once before, back when she was just six years old. I had just presented her with a porcelain doll—not for any special reason, other than because she loved dolls—and I'd let slip how my first wife had once had a collection of many. The next thing I knew I was sobbing, pouring my heart out to a little girl not yet seven years old the story of how my wife had abandoned me. Even then Alicia had distributed the kind of compassion that was so rare in children that age. Wrapping her small arms around me, she'd laid her head on my shoulder and told me of the time she'd run away from home: "It was after Daddy yelled at me for climbing the bookcase in his study. I was angry with him, so I ran away to the park. I rode the carousel and ate ice-cream. Then I got bored and went home. Maybe when your wife gets bored of running away, she'll come home too."

"'Garland?'" Again Alicia reached for my hand, only this time I didn't shake her off. I was grateful for the comfort, even though the one offering it was too young to understand the reason behind my distress. "'What's wrong?'"

Using the back of my hand, I swiped the tears from my eyes before turning to face her. "'It's nothing you need concern yourself with, sweetheart.'"

"'If it's nothing,'" she asked, her two small hands wrapped around my single large one, "'then why are you crying?'"

"'I'm not.'"

"'Oh, but you are! I can tell by the way your eyes are shining.'"

She was so bright—brighter than I could ever have hoped to be at twelve.

"'Please, Garland. Please come back inside and watch me blow out my candles. It won't mean anything unless you're there to see me do it.'"

I wasn't sure I'd be comfortable returning to the house with the knowledge of how Alicia's parents felt about my birthday gift to her. But I didn't want her feelings to be hurt if I left, either. This was my fault, and I had to do all I could to take away the sting she'd suffered on my behalf. "'But what of your other friends? Like that boy—the one who gave you the pretty ring with your birthstone in it?'"

"'Who, Alistair? Oh, he's just a boy in my class at school…I only know him a little. His mother and mine are in the same sewing circle together.'"

"'He certainly seems to fancy you.'"

Alicia blushed, twisting her small body two and fro so that her skirt flared and her long hair fanned out behind her.

"'Alicia,'" the voice of her mother called. "'Come inside now. It's time to make a wish and blow out your candles.'"

Alicia whirled in the direction of the front door, then back to me. "'Are you still not coming?'"

"'I would if I could, Alicia. Unfortunately, business doesn't always make acceptations.'"

She didn't attempt to argue with me, nor did she cry. Instead she took a flying leap across the pavement and into my arms, pressing her cheek to mine. "'I'll save you some cake,'" she promised.

I smiled, bestowing upon her forehead a kiss parallel to those a father gives his daughter. She always seemed disappointed when I did that, and deep down both of us knew the reason why. It would be two more years before we got what we wanted. And until that day came, this was the way things between us would be.

"'Happy birthday, my love.'" I reveled in her lovely smile for a moment, before she skipped up the steps to her house. She paused, turned once, smiled again, and then vanished through the front door.

"Garland…"

I was drawn away from my cherished reverie by the melodic voice of my wife. Even before I'd turned to acknowledge her, something in her tone told me that something was wrong. It was written in the way her voice trembled and how the blood appeared to have drained out of her face, making her appear more like a ghost than an angel. But it wasn't until she clutched fiercely at my arm that I began to panic. My heart raced as I watched, utterly terrified, as her eyes rolled back inside her head and her body dropped back. A woman behind us screamed, and quickly I seized hold of Alicia. I pulled her up into a temporary standing position before she could fall and strike her head on the back of the pew.

The entire congregation went deadly silent. Carole Schroder's fingers hit the keys of the piano with such force that loud echoes bounced off the towering walls of the cathedral. In a matter of seconds every eye in the room had turned in Alicia's and my direction, watching as I lowered her carefully down onto the pew.

Out of everyone present, Mal was the first to speak: "Grandpa, what's wrong with Alicia?"

Her mouth agape, Olivia pressed her hand to her breast. _"Garland, what on Earth has happened?"_

"I'm not sure," I confessed, doing my best to hold myself together. All I needed now was to frighten anyone…I was doing a good enough job of frightening myself. With great gentleness I began to pat Alicia on the cheeks, one after the other. "Alicia, my love…sweetheart…darling…dear…oh, God, please! _Please! Wake up!"_

Although I was too preoccupied with Alicia to see who it was, someone shoved a bottle of smelling salts at me. "Give her these."

I took the bottle and pried off the lid, then thrust the bottle underneath Alicia's nose. For a moment nothing happened, and I felt the first of the tears loosen from my eyes. Then she coughed, followed by a sniffle and then a sneeze, the last stage before she finally opened her eyes. At first she appeared confused, taking a moment to gaze around at the many concerned faces hovering over her.

When at last our eyes met, she smiled innocently and asked sweetly, "What happened?"

"You fainted. You were singing, and the next thing I knew you'd gone slack beside me."

"Did I? I don't recall hitting the floor."

"I caught you before you could, darling—it all happened very suddenly."

"Garland, why don't you escort Alicia outside for some fresh air," Olivia suggested.

"Can I go, too?" Mal asked eagerly.

"No," Malcolm ordered before Olivia could reply. "You're going to stay here with the rest of us and pay heed to the remainder of the service."

"But Daddy, I wanna go with Grandpa and Alicia."

"We can't always have what we want in this world, Mal. It's better you learn that lesson now."

"Listen to your father, Mal." Although Olivia spoke with evident firmness, she never addressed her children vindictively the way their father did. "He knows what is best for you."

I couldn't help admiring Mal for his courage. While his fear of Malcolm was apparent most of the time, there were rare moments in which Mal dared stand up to him. It made me speculate if Mal's increasing audacity was a look into his future. Mal's concern for Alicia was certainly more than I could say for Malcolm, who had appeared to be in another world throughout the ordeal. I was greatly disappointed, though I said nothing.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Mal pouted. It was clear from his silence that his attempts in accompanying Alicia and me outside had failed, and I couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

Before Alicia and I excused ourselves, I thanked the person who had given me the smelling salts (it turned out to be the wife of one of my associates at the office). We promised to try and return before the service ended. If not, then we'd meet Malcolm and Olivia with the children back inside the limousine. Alicia and I moved on to thank both Reverend Masterson and Carole Schroder for a lovely service. We shook hands with each, apologizing for the interruption that had ensued. Both assured us not to worry, their only concern being for Alicia.

Alicia and I were greeted by the warmth of the late morning sunshine and the sweet twittering of birds as we stepped outside. Lacing my arm around her waist (which was still so slender even after the birth of our son), I pulled her close. As we walked about the courtyard together, I became aware of her unusual silence. Unless silence was a requirement, there was not a time I could recall in which she hadn't chattered on and on about this or that. Something was bothering her, and I had reason to believe it was connected to more than just her fainting spell.

It wasn't until we found ourselves standing behind the cathedral amongst the tombstones that I voiced my concern. "Is something wrong, my love?"

Alicia's head was bowed low…so low that her face was completely concealed by her hair. She shook her head vehemently, so hard that her chestnut tendrils bounced like rabbits on her head.

"If there is, then my only wish is that you tell me."

Her answer came in the form of a tiny sob. Yet that sob provided me with enough panic to seize her by the shoulders and spin her around to face me. Pushing back my darling's hair, I was shocked by the devastated expression on her lovely face. Fat tears were rolling one after the other down her naturally rosy cheeks, her nose running like Joel's did on a regular basis. Quickly I snatched the handkerchief from my top pocket and ever so gently began to dab away the tears from her eyes. Once I had completed the task—a task of which I was more than happy to perform—I handed her the handkerchief so she could blow her nose.

"I'm sorry," she said, as she stuffed the article of fabric into her handbag.

Thinking she meant the handkerchief, I responded to her words without concern. "Don't be. The lower drawer of our borough is full of handkerchiefs."

"I wasn't referring to that."

It took me almost no time at all to grasp the reason pertaining to her regret. "Oh, Alicia…" Tenderly I pulled her into my arms and held her close as I continued. "You shouldn't feel it necessary to apologize for such things. Why, back when I was a child, I often fainted during Sunday Service. The dankness and lack of fresh air was inclined to provoke my asthma, you see. As a result, my family and I took to sitting in the back rows near the open doors. Obviously it didn't matter where we chose to sit during the colder months, but—"

Alicia sobbed, her small shoulders shaking with the force of it. "It wasn't the temperature that caused me to collapse back inside the cathedral, Garland."

"Then what _was?"_ Rarely did there arise a time in which Alicia's behavior frustrated me, or forced me to raise my voice. But if there was something happening to her that she wasn't telling me, then I had no choice but to be firm. "Are you ill?" The thought was so horrible that I didn't even want to consider it. "Please, darling—if you're ill, then it is of the utmost importance that you tell me this instant!" I shook her, just in case she had any intention of keeping any secrets from me.

"I'm not ill." Her tone indicated annoyance, which was something she had never once expressed to me before. She stepped back, and for a moment I assumed it was her current feelings that had led to her decision. But then she began to unbutton her blazer, avoiding my eyes as she shrugged out of it and revealed the source of her fainting spell.

Like the victim of an anaconda, Alicia was bound by the confines of a corset so tight that it was a wonder she could breathe at all. The garment offered the illusion of a waist smaller than even that which she'd had prior to her pregnancy. Her breasts were squeezed together and were apt to spill right over the top of the corset at any moment. The poor thing looked so heartbreakingly uncomfortable, squirming about in clothing that was at least one size too small. The corset was probably one of the garments she'd brought with her from Richmond, though I didn't dare say so.

Alicia then reached up behind her to loosen the corset's strings, frustrated when her fingers continuously missed them.

"Here." I took a step toward her. "Let me do that for you." Without a word she pivoted, granting me permission to take over the wearisome task. I began by hastily untying the strings at the bottom, before working my way up and unlacing them from their slits. "Did someone help you with this?" I asked kindly.

Alicia nodded.

"Who?"

"One of the maids."

"Which one?"

"Helena."

"Was she aware of how tightly she had bound it?"

"I'd asked her to."

I said nothing, preferring to put all of my focus on freeing my little mockingbird from her silken cage as quickly as possible.

"You aren't going to dismiss her, are you?"

Although the choice was not mine to make, I responded in the hope of easing Alicia's anxiety: "Of course not."

Not another word was uttered between us until I'd loosened the corset enough to deliver to her body so much needed breath. Was she truly so ashamed of her body following childbirth that she would put herself through such agony?

Alicia pressed the garment close against her body as she turned and flung herself into my arms. Even the warm sunlight of spring was not enough to spare her the goosebumps that prickled her shoulders and arms. Taking her blazer, I placed it around her shivering form before drawing her in for a passionate kiss.

"I love you," I said, gazing down into her large blue eyes which were, at present, full of tears. "And I hate to see you suffer so."

"Garland, my darling…I love you, too." Her voice was nothing above a whisper. If she raised even an octave, I was certain her voice would break. "And I'm sorry to have given you such a fright."

Atop her sun-kissed head was where I pressed my lips before answering. "We should be getting back to the limousine soon…you know how Malcolm is when it comes to velocity."

So that Alicia would not be forced to contend with the discomfort of her corset all the way back to Foxworth Hall, I offered her my sport jacket. It was shaping up to be quite a warm day, so I suggested we store her blazer in the trunk of the limousine.

Not wanting the distress of being embarrassed to overwhelm her, I added, "I'll retrieve it once we're home and everyone has gone inside."

Garbed in my sport jacket, Alicia gave the impression of a child playing dress-up. The sleeves hung well past her hands, while the hem nearly graced her ankles. She stood just five-foot-one-inch tall, and so many of her garments required special alterations. Although her smallness bothered her, I had always found it to be one of her most amiable aspects. Along with her delicate features, her size gave her the likeness of a little pixie.

Lucas was attending the service as well, and so Alicia and I had a few more minutes to ourselves. Because I had a spare key to the limousine, we chose to wait inside. We made the most of our time alone, even if to us that mostly consisted of no more than affectionate caresses and tender kisses. Even with the birth of Christopher, I was beginning to think my honeymoon would never end. Not that I minded in the least, for I saw no reason why a lack of traveling should justify it.

"You know, Garland," Alicia said devilishly, twirling my necktie around her little finger. "If we weren't so out in the open, and if it wasn't for the fact that we were sitting in a churchyard, then I'd suggest we take our affections for each other to greater heights."

"So…what are you proposing?" I asked, and kissed the spot on her neck that was known to drive her absolutely wild. "That you'd resort to making love inside a motor car for lack of a better place?"

Throwing back her head, she moaned before validating my question with a response. "Mm…perhaps, darling…though I was thinking more for a thrill."

As sweet and innocent as she was, there was no doubt Alicia could be wickedly seductive when she wanted to be. She'd been a virgin when she married me, although Alistair Aldridge had come close to being her first. They had begun courting only a few months prior to our first kiss…a kiss that had awakened in her the decision to save herself for marriage. For by then she had decided that the one she'd marry would be me.

"You are _devious!" _I proclaimed, though I couldn't stop myself from chuckling as I said it.

Alicia joined in, throwing her arms about my neck just as we heard the doors of the limousine being thrust open from all sides.

"Shall we continue this discussion in the privacy of our bedroom?"

Her amused smile was all the answer I needed, and I kissed her just as Malcolm climbed into the seat across from ours.


	3. The Past Rekindled

I do not own _Garden of Shadows _or any of its characters, likenesses, or places. They belong to V.C. Andrews.

* * *

"I don't care _what _the causes were—she made a mockery of the service! Have you forgotten that tomorrow is Monday and we are due back at the offices? How do you expect us to walk through those doors and still manage to hold our heads high?"

Malcolm had barely paused for breath from the moment the door of the trophy room had slammed shut. Alicia was in the nursery with Christopher and Joel, and Olivia had taken Mal for a boat ride around the lake. I had never cared for shouting, believing in the concept of there being better, more efficient ways of solving problems. Malcolm had always had a temper…something he'd inherited from his mother. Being the object of his wrath always left me feeling more like one of his children than his father. But he didn't see me as his father—he hadn't for many years, and therefore felt warranted to treat me as his adversary.

"For _years _I had to strive to gain the respect of my employees," Malcolm flared. "For that to be taken from me owing to the actions of one foolish child is _not_ an option! Respect is something to be _earned_, not handed out on a silver platter—do you _honestly_ think I can demand that respect back once it's been lost?"

"Malcolm!" I roared, for I could make my voice as loud and pompous as his when the need arose. "Control yourself! Aside from my own respect, you haven't lost a thing…not one God-given right! Now cease this childish tantrum immediately before you give yourself a stroke."

Malcolm, his nostrils flaring like a bull's as it's preparing to charge, did cease his tantrum—but not until he slammed his fist into the side of the bookshelf. A short time ago, he had transferred the glass elephant from the library across the hall and into the trophy room with his other artifacts. The elephant was sitting on the bookshelf as he struck it with his fist, which caused the toy to roll off the shelf. It struck the wooden panel hard, causing the man on top to break off on impact. Malcolm took no notice, and instead slammed out of the room.

I was left standing all alone, shaking in the aftermath of my son's tempestuous storm. Why had I come back here? Had some part of me had the foolish hope of finding a way of reconciling with Malcolm or, even more foolishly, the hope that he'd forgiven me? Not one letter or even a telephone call had I received in the twelve years since he'd gone off to study at Yale. That should have been enough evidence to convince me, and yet…yet I'd continued to dream the impossible. Dream like I had of Corrine turning back up in my life after she'd left me to raise Malcolm on my own. From the time I was an infant, life had treated me unjustly. But just when I thought I'd been dealt all the wrong cards, fate had taken pity on me and given me the card I needed to win the game. That lucky card I'd been dealt was Alicia, the love of my life and the one who gave me a reason to open my eyes each morning.

I barely noticed the tears that had begun to streak my cheeks until I perceived what sounded like a small choke. As far as I knew, Iwas the only one present in the room—and so it was none other than _I _who'd made the sound. My eyes scanned over the taxidermies mounted on the walls; for a split second I wondered if their spirits were watching me, having fun at my expense as payback for what I'd done to them. Then I laughed, feeling foolish for even considering such an absurd possibility. Going over to the desk, I squatted down on my knees and picked up the pieces of the damaged toy. There was a place in Charlottesville I could take it to be repaired, though I knew it wouldn't matter one way or the other to Malcolm. His childhood had ended long ago, though that end had come much sooner than it ought to have. I thought of this as I examined the objects in my hands, and then stood up to set them down in the center of the desk.

As I exited the trophy room, I switched off the light and closed the door as I stepped out into the foyer. Malcolm was nowhere in sight, and for this I was grateful. I had no desire to see him after how he'd spoken to me or the way he'd spoken of Alicia. All I wanted now was to join my wife, son, and grandson in the nursery.

I arrived to find Christopher and Joel sleeping peacefully in their respective cribs, but Alicia was nowhere to be seen. Then I remembered how she'd mentioned in the limousine her desire to take a bath upon our return to Foxworth Hall. But when I dashed across the hallway to our bedroom to check the adjoining bath, I discovered it empty. Her bottles of oils and lotions sat on the edge of the tub, and a fresh towel sat draped over the gold bar on the wall. Other than that, there was no evidence to show that the room had been recently occupied. In a wave of panic I raced out and back down the stairway, repeatedly calling Alicia's name.

My cries provoked no response, and as a result my terror increased one hundred times over.

Like the wild beasts I'd once hunted, I burst through the front door of Foxworth Hall and out into the bright May sunshine. Olsen was prolifically trimming the rose bushes, and hurriedly I raced over to him. In what I was sure sounded like a garbled slur of words, I asked him if he'd seen Alicia any time after our return to the mansion. When he said no, I pivoted and fled in the direction of the lake.

Next to the parlor that accommodated the piano of which she was so fond, the lake was Alicia's favorite of Foxworth Hall's dwellings. If she wasn't in the parlor, and if I didn't find her down at the lake, then I had no idea where else she could be. It was all coming back to me now…my memories of waking up that inauspicious morning more than thirty years ago to discover Corrine had left me. I'd spent _hours_ looking for her, checking all of her favorite rooms a dozen or so times each, until at last I uncovered the note she'd left. In it she described how she could no longer cope with the responsibilities of motherhood, let alone as my wife. She still loved Malcolm—_that _would never change. But she'd found someone else who could please her, a younger man who could fulfill her needs as I never had or could. I still had that note stashed away someplace, though I could no longer remember where that someplace was. I had no idea why I'd kept it, or what I'd do with it if I ever found it.

I reached the lake just as Olivia and Mal were returning from their boat ride. Upon our return to Foxworth Hall, she had exchanged her colorful gown for one of many conservative gray dresses that hung in her closet. The makeup was gone from her face, and the gray had been restored to what was the loneliest pair of eyes I'd ever seen. Looking into her eyes was often like looking into a mirror, for I saw myself a child again. Saw myself peering through the windows in the attic schoolroom, as I longed for the freedom to run and play with other children.

Olivia was in the process of lifting Mal up onto the docks and setting him down as I called to my daughter-in-law from the grassy shore.

"Olivia, have you seen Alicia?"

While Mal ran to greet me, Olivia climbed out of the boat and began to tie the rope attached to the dock's post to it. "The last time I spoke with her was shortly before Mal and I departed for the lake. She'd just fed Christopher and was putting Joel down for a nap. She said something about going to find a book to take with her into the bathtub."

Mal latched onto my leg and I reached down to ruffle his hair, before continuing my conversation with his mother. "Did she specify the room from which she planned to retrieve the book?"

"I had assumed she was referring to the downstairs library. I tried to tell her Malcolm wouldn't be pleased to find watermarks on the pages of his books, but she was so insistent that she have something to read. So I suggested she take something from the upstairs library instead, since it's rarely ever used."

"Grandpa, can I have a horsey ride?" Mal asked.

"Mal, stop pestering your grandfather," Olivia ordered. "Let's go back to the house and bake a nice batch of chocolate chip cookies. Would you like that?"

"Yay! Chocolate chip!"

I hadn't heard a word of the conversation since Olivia's supposition of Alicia's whereabouts. Malcolm and I had entered the trophy room no more than ten minutes after returning to Foxworth Hall. I'd gone upstairs with Alicia and Joel to change clothes and check on Christopher.

Afterward I'd headed back down—this time to the kitchen, where I put in a request with Mrs. Wilson for some chamomile tea. Alicia was still gravely beside herself over the events at the cathedral, and I felt it would take more than a bath to calm her nerves.

It was during my return to the nursery that Malcolm met me on the stairway and asked me to join him in the trophy room. Feeling like George Washington after having been found guilty of chopping down the cherry tree, I'd gone obediently to meet my fate.

Had Alicia, for some unknown reason, been inside the trophy room when I'd arrived? Had she been there when Malcolm come through the door and hidden herself away to keep from being discovered? If she had entered the room before us, and if she _had _concealed herself somewhere, then she'd obviously succeeded. As far as I'd known, the only witnesses to Malcolm's and my dispute were the beasts lining the walls. The door was closed and had been bolted shut, while the walls themselves were as thick as brick. No one could have heard the words exchanged between us unless they were somewhere in that room.

And then I remembered the nearly inaudible—yet evident—cry I had heard shortly before departing the trophy room. I had been so certain at the time that it had been me that I'd blatantly ignored it. But Olivia's previous explanation had given me the opportunity to reassess my previous convictions. How _absurd _I'd been to entertain the idea that Alicia would leave me for the same reasons as Corrine had! I should know by now how much Alicia loved me; that her devotion to me was more than adequate proof that she didn't possess one selfish bone in her body. For she was the sweetest, most beautiful, charming, benevolent person I had ever had the pleasure of knowing. I would have gotten down on my knees and thanked God for sending her to me, had I not suddenly recalled one very crucial detail.

The lights! I had switched them off upon leaving the trophy room! Not only that, but I'd closed the door as well! If Alicia _was _trapped inside the room, then she was sure to be terrified. For her to be inside during the daylight was one thing. But if it was dark or after the sun had set behind the clouds, she all but _refused _to set foot inside. If she did, then she would _beg_ me to escort her. After all, there was nothing more terrifying than seeing wild animals seemingly prepared to fly from the walls in half-lit darkness. Even _I_ had to admit to feeling a little shaken, each time I passed by the trophy room at night and the door had been left ajar.

Mal—too keen on the idea of spending an afternoon baking cookies with his mother—paid little attention to my departure. All the way back to Foxworth Hall I raced, feeling like a participant in a running competition. Except there were no other competitors, and the only prize I sought was the security of my precious bride. If any harm had come to her because of the hideous things Malcolm had said, then I swore it would be eternity before I forgave him.

I was surprised to encounter Mrs. Steiner upon my return. She was standing at the front door, her hands folded together over her breast. The expression on her face implied that trouble waited beyond that door, and I felt a lump rise in my throat. Suddenly she began to rattle off in her thick German accent the reason why I had been unable to trace Alicia's whereabouts. Mrs. Steiner talked so quickly, and many times her distress caused her to resort to speaking in her native tongue. But I was able to comprehend the rundown of what she expressed to me—which was that Alicia had somehow inadvertently gotten herself locked inside the trophy room.

"I had just come from the kitchen," Mrs. Steiner explained, "when I heard the pounding on the door. It must have jammed the last time it was closed, because I could not for the life of me pry it open. I sent Helena to fetch Olsen, and he used a crowbar to force it open. Your wife was on the other side, curled up on the floor behind the sofa. When we asked her to tell us what had happened, she refused to move or to speak—or couldn't. She was still in the room when I left to find you…Helena is with her, trying to get her to communicate I assume. Your wife is—"

"Frightened," I concluded. "She's frightened, that's all, of the dark, and of what's on the walls. She'll come out of it once she sees me, I'm sure. Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Steiner."

Mrs. Steiner's apprehensive expression relaxed, and she nodded before stepping aside to bid me entry to the mansion. I said nothing as I crossed the foyer and strode past the kitchen where Mrs. Wilson came to peer out at me. I hurried toward the stairway and raced up the steps like a madman, my heart pounding all the while.

My mind drifted back to a time not long ago—to an afternoon much like this one. Malcolm and I had just returned from the office, and I was stunned by the absence of Alicia. She was always there to greet me with not only kisses and hugs, but an assortment of endless questions pertaining to my day. Questions I was always more than happy to answer with explanations that never failed to delight her.

Alicia was due to give birth any day now. When I learned from Olivia that my wife had gone up to the attic, I immediately feared the worst.

Of course, Alicia was perfectly fine. She stood in a cleared corner of the attic, busily amusing herself before a mirror with a trunk full of Corrine's old dresses. Alicia had done the garments justice, certainly, and I took pleasure in watching her struggle to make many of them go past her belly. It was an absolutely charming sight to behold, so charming that I exposed myself by tittering slightly.

She spun around then, holding the magenta ball gown up to herself. "'Why, Garland! You startled me!'"

"'I'm sorry, my darling,'" I replied, stepping out of the shadows and strolling over to her side. "'But Olivia said you came up here and I was worried.'" Placing my finger beneath Alicia's chin, I tilted back her head and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "'What made you want to come up into this dusty old attic, anyway?'"

"'I wanted to explore. From the way Olivia described it, she made it sound like a place where one can easily lose themselves. So I decided to come up and see for myself exactly what all the fuss was about.'"

"'I was afraid you _would _get lost up here.'" The very thought of such danger befalling either Alicia or our child was enough to summon forth tears to my eyes. "'Darling, it isn't _safe_ up here. You might've tripped over a wire, or a heavy object could have fallen on you. I want you to promise me you will _never_ come up here by yourself again.'"

She sensed the apprehension in my voice, while my eyes swam—as I'm sure they did—with the thought of what _could have_ potentially occurred. She nodded genuinely, and then stepped forward to curl her arms around me reassuringly. With my wife now safe in my arms, I finally allowed the tears to reach the perimeter of my eyes and fall.

Alicia hardly minded my reaction, and stepped back to gaze up at me. She smiled sweetly, her eyes shining with incredible passion—the sort of passion expressed by those who are so desperately in love. Taking my face in her hands, she stood on tiptoe and ever so gently began to kiss away my tears.

It was there, in the attic schoolroom where I had spent so many lonely childhood days, that I embraced the woman who loved me and the child I had no reason to doubt would.

Olsen was standing before the now lit trophy room when I arrived, the door swung wide open. I nodded at him, indicating my gratitude for his earlier services.

Aside from all of its furnishings, I saw nothing beyond the door of the trophy room. And yet I was drawn through them like a moth to a flame, for I knew what awaited me on the inside.

Just as Mrs. Steiner had guaranteed she would be, Alicia was laying on the floor behind the couch. Alicia's knees were drawn up to her chin, and she had her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. The last time I'd seen her, she was still wearing my sport jacket. Since then, she had exchanged it for her own white dressing gown. Helena was knelt beside her, stroking her back in a motherly manner even though the two were, presumably, the same age. When Helena saw me advancing toward them, she stood up and went to join Olsen in the hallway.

"Alicia, my love," said I, speaking softly lest I startle her. "To look at you one would assume that the Civil War was ensuing right outside this room."

When she didn't answer, I sank to my knees and rolled her over to face me. Still not saying a word, she reacted by situating herself into a sitting position. I hoped that my wide shoulders would be enough to block from her view the beasts behind me.

"Are you all right?"

Her large blue eyes—made all the larger by her fear—became even wider as they met mine. She nodded, and I watched tears fill her eyes like blood in a fresh wound.

"I met Olivia down by the lake," I went on. "She mentioned something about you venturing into the idle library for a book. But what made you come in _here, _of all places? I thought you _despised_ this room?"

"I wasn't intending to come in here," Alicia said at last. "But then I heard footsteps, and I suppose I panicked." Her voice sounded strange, as if she had a sore throat, though not enough so that I couldn't understand her. "Knowing that this room _and _both libraries belong to Malcolm, I assumed it was him. My first thought was to run in here, so that's what I did, and ducked behind the sofa. Then when I saw it was you, I saw no reason to continue with my deception. But before I could do anything I heard more footsteps, followed by Malcolm's voice and the sound of the door slamming. Being trapped, I knew there was nothing I could do, lest I expose myself and provoke his wrath. So I stayed where I was, crouched in a fetal position, listening to him take out on you something that he should have taken out on _me._ I'm well aware that he detests me…I've known it since just after we came here. He thinks I'm too young, that I'm far too childish and inexperienced to be your wife and the mother of your child."

Tenderly I placed the tips of my fingers over her lips to quiet her. It broke my heart to see her like this—to see her taking the word of someone who held so little respect for her, as well as for me. Though it was true that her youth and innocence were two of the things that had first attracted me to her, it was her compassion for all those around her that had won my heart. She could look at someone like Malcolm and see a misunderstood human being; a man who had gone through life feeling hatred towards a father who'd once disregarded him and a mother who'd forever deserted him. Although she was more than ten years his junior, Alicia _could _have been the mother Malcolm needed if only he'd let her in. But he'd rejected her, seeming to grow more and more opposed to every drop of kindness she showered him with.

"Don't," I said. "You mustn't think that way, my darling. Malcolm says things in the heat of the moment, but none of it is intended to be taken seriously. He is a complex man, and there are those who are complex who don't always consider their words as carefully as they should. Malcolm is one of them. He has a mind like an adding machine. For the information he distributes is beset with as many _in_accuracies as it is accuracies."

"I suppose I know now what you meant, when you told me how sorry you felt for Olivia being married to a man like Malcolm."

"I was _jesting." _I chortled as I thumbed the tears away from my wife's eyes; it was so flattering the way she was able to recall every last thing I said and did. "But yes, in a way I _was_ speaking the truth. Although I wished it, I never did envision him as the type who would one day settle down. You remember my surprise when we first came here and learned of his marriage to Olivia."

"I thought it spiteful the way your own son hadn't even thought to invite you to his wedding," Alicia stated. "Especially when you all but _begged _him to come to ours."

"Groveling always _has_ been the worst out of all my qualities—my former wife could easily verify that for you."

Alicia never objected to my mentions of Corrine…on the contrary, Alicia even went as far as to _encourage _them. "It's all right with me that you still think of her," Alicia whispered softly, cupping my face in her hands as she gazed deeply into my eyes. "And if you miss her, then I understand that, too. I've seen the way Malcolm looks at you every time you mention her. The subject of his mother is obviously difficult for him, but not so much for you. I remember the day you found me up in the attic, trying on your wife's old dresses. How your expression was a fusion of mutual pleasure and sorrow…and immediately I understood why. To know you still think of the woman who wronged you makes the fires of my desire for you burn that much stronger. You are the sweetest man who ever walked God's green earth, Garland Foxworth, and I want to spend the rest of my life being the best wife I can by you."

Alicia kissed me then, drawing my face and body slowly forward. She fell back on the floor, murmuring contentedly as I followed, my fingers playing through her hair. It was in the back of my mind to acknowledge the presence that there were others nearby, and to keep things between my wife and myself casual. But I had spent twenty agonizing minutes wallowing beneath the impression that she had deserted me. Now that I'd been proven wrong, I was not about to take for granted even one moment we spent together.

"How very precious you are to me, my love," I confessed. "And how much it would break my heart if there ever comes a time where you vanish from my life."

"That will never happen, my darling," Alicia swore, fixing her eyes earnestly on my face. "How can it when the very thought of spending even one night away from you makes me weep?"

Alicia was the type of person whose mind was so easily conquered by emotion. She had an ardor for romantic novels and poetry, and more often than not her vocalizations were a reflection of these passions. She was what my brother would have called 'a free spirit'; it was regrettable that the two had never met, for I knew they would have gotten on like a house on fire. Like Alicia, Jonathan had the ability to see only the best in those around him—a skill that had merely improved with age. Even when Adelaide, our younger sister, would taunt me for being her 'older, weaker brother', Jonathan always told me in his unpretentiously, serene way to be patient with her.

"'She's younger than you are, Garland,'" he said one afternoon, as the two of us sat outside admiring the lake, "'and she's angry with Mother and Father for refusing to let her attend school with her friends. I realize it may not seem so, but Adelaide doesn't hold us responsible for our sheltered lifestyle. She knows you can help your breathing condition about as much as I can help not being able to walk.'"

I was fourteen then, the age where most children start becoming exceptionally temperamental. Being confined to an attic schoolroom five days a week for eight years was a constant reminder of all I was missing on the other side. I couldn't even feel the warm breezes of spring and summer on my face, because my parents insisted on keeping the windows locked at all times. So terrified were they that any spores in the air would send me into an asthmatic fit from which I would never recover. As a result I'd grown hardened, and with the onset of puberty I was quickly becoming more so. Besides my brother, Nathaniel Evans was my only other friend (on the outside), along with an exasperating sister I tolerated merely because it was expected of me.

"'Is that why she hit me in the head with that damned wooden horse the other day,'" I asked Jonathan, "'then ran off laughing before I could catch her and give her what she deserved?'"

Jonathan chuckled. I scowled, disapproving of his reaction. "'She's eight—you can't _hit _an eight-year-old when you're fourteen, let alone a girl. Being the son of a southern gentleman, I would have thought you'd have learned that years ago.'"

What I _had_ learned was a great deal from that concise conversation with my older brother. Although it would be many years before I would come to appreciate its significance, I would look back on that afternoon at the lake many times with admiration. An admiration for not only my brother, who was wise beyond his years, but an admiration for his incredible patience. Not to mention the way a man should always treat a woman, as well as how to understand them. Jonathan was twenty-five then, and very much an adult. And yet, he never made this fact more evident than was necessary. Always did he speak to me as well as to Adelaide as though we were of his own generation. His behavior was so out of context with that of the other adults we knew. As I grew older, and especially after I began courting Alicia, I speculated on the idea that Jonathan's respect for younger individuals had influenced my own for Alicia and the way I saw her.

"Darling?"

Like a tranquil melody, Alicia's sweet voice drew me pleasantly away from dreams of the past and into the reality of the present. I had carried her from the trophy room and up the stairway to our bedroom. Now we were lying side by side across our bed, cradled in each other's arms. Alicia's tears had ceased some time ago, and she looked as though she had just awoken from a lovely dream. Her velvet-soft lips pressed themselves to my own as her hand reached for mine, drawing it toward her abdomen. Although she was no longer pregnant, she still enjoyed the feeling of my hand there, even if all that remained was a small patch of post-baby softness. It was, honestly, rather becoming on what had always been her perfect hourglass figure. I was more than happy to please her in any way I could; especially at the expense of the charming blush that enveloped her cheeks and the way her girlish giggles echoed in my ears, as my hand made contact with her skin.

"Where were you just now?" Alicia asked me, as my hand slid up her dressing gown.

"Whatever do you mean by that, my love? I've done nothing else but lay by your side this entire time."

"No, you adorable, absentminded, southern gentleman." She laughed, stretching her short yet shapely legs as I caressed the warmth of her soft stomach. "I was referring to what you were _thinking _of."

"Oh." I blushed, an act which won me yet another kiss on the lips from my wife. What was it about my words and actions that enamored her so? "I was thinking of my childhood."

"Oh." She seemed surprised, as if she'd expected me to admit to something entirely different. "Which part?"

"Just in relation to being fourteen."

"I can imagine you at fourteen. I'll bet you were as sweet then as you are now, and that every girl in hindsight had their eye on you."

"On the contrary," I answered, and laughed more to myself than in response to her observations. "I was quite the opposite."

Alicia gasped, pulling back to stare at me in disbelief. "But you were so _handsome!_ How could anyone in their right mind not adore you as I do?"

"Looks had nothing to do with it. Being cooped up like a bird in a cage five days a week in an attic schoolroom left me with little time for socializing—not to mention girls."

"How sad…were you very sad?" she asked, her voice suddenly full of pity.

"Sometimes. And there were others in which I would grow angry; both in my lack of friendships, and for not being able to go outside. There were times when I'd awaken in the middle of the night and sneak out to the lake, just to get some fresh air. My condition wasn't as serious as my parents suspected. There were many things I could have done that wouldn't endanger my health, but they were so terrified they refused to permit it. Jonathan was the only one who ever treated me in a way that made me feel that I was just like everyone else."

"What happened to him? Your brother?"

"He died," I said, "of heart failure, the same as our father. Jonathan was Best Man at my first wedding, and he would have been again at ours. He died the same year Malcolm entered high school. Four years after that, Adelaide was killed in a boating accident. She was just two months shy of marrying her childhood sweetheart."

"Oh. Oh, Garland…I'm so sorry. How terrible that must have been for you, to have lost nearly everyone you ever cared about."

"You were my angel of mercy, appearing in my life just in time to save it. Jonathan died just after your father began working for me. If it hadn't been for the support of you and your family, then I don't know how I would have ever survived."

"I remember that. You came to our house one afternoon, looking as though you'd seen a ghost. Mother said you were sick, because she didn't want me to know you'd been drinking. She took you into Father's study, and a long time passed before any of you came out again. At one point, I thought I heard you crying. Then when I saw you again, I _knew_ you'd been crying because of the way your eyes shone."

"Even as a child, you were always so perceptive. Why was that?"

Alicia shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by my compliment. "I'm not sure. My parents, as well as those who were acquainted with us, often wondered the same thing."

"Then I suppose all we can do is dismiss it as one of the many unexplained miracles of God."

"Just as our destiny to meet was one of His miracles."

Taking my hand—which was still beneath her dressing gown—I tickled her belly, making her giggle and squirm in my arms.

Sitting on the nightstand behind me were two steaming cups of chamomile tea that Mrs. Wilson had prepared for us. Beside the cups was a plate comprised of two chocolate-chip cookies, courtesy of Mal. He had made them especially for us, though not before forcing me to promise that the one shaped like a bird would go to Alicia. For me, he had made a cookie in the shape of an elephant like the one displayed in the trophy room (for some reason, those beasts didn't faze him one bit). Neither of the cookies resembled their intended targets, but what more can one expect from a three-year-old? And Mal—he had worked _tirelessly _to make for his grandmother and me tokens of his love for us. He had expressed so much concern for Alicia back at the cathedral, and on the way home insisted that he sit beside her in the limousine. ("Because, Daddy, if she falls down again, then I'll be there to catch her," he explained to his father, when Malcolm questioned the importance of his son sitting beside Alicia at every family event.)

"Mal has gone to great lengths to make each of us a little gift," I announced, sliding the plate off the nightstand and presenting it to Alicia. "In the form of desserts."

"Oh!" She beamed, pressing her hands to the sides of her face. "How lovely! They look like…like little animals. _Are _they animals?"

"According to Mal"—I pointed to the cookie he had made for Alicia—"this one is a bird. And this one here"—I indicated to the cookie beside it—"is an elephant."

"They're perfect!" She laughed, her hand hovering above the plate. "Which one is mine?"

"This one." Carefully, I picked up the bird-shaped cookie and handed it to Alicia. "He made me promise it would go to no one else but you, my love."

Taking the cookie, she held it up to examine it closely. "I think this looks very _much _like a bird—see? Here's its beak, and this part here is its tail. And these two pieces on the bottom are its feet."

"I must admit," I said, peering closely at my own cookie, "that yours is much more attractive than mine."

It was true. The cookie meant to resemble an elephant was as unattractive as it was comical. It was nothing more than a small, round blob with a long stick at the end, making it look more like a lollipop than an elephant.

"I'm sure it's delicious, though," Alicia proclaimed, just before biting off the tail of her bird. "Mine certainly is."

I followed her example, starting with the trunk of my elephant. Her words proved true…it _was _delicious! For some unknown reason, witnessing me snap the trunk off with my teeth caused her to burst into a loud, high-pitched cackle. Her reaction was contagious! Within seconds of disposing of my own cookie I had joined her in laughter, embracing her as I did so.

Terrible days come and go—and ours had been as terrible as they come. But rarely are terrible days complemented by an ending as delightful and blissful as ours was that Sunday afternoon in May.

**_~The End~_**


End file.
